A walk.
We exit her place and come full-stride to a park. I spot a bridge and walk to the edge, subtly encouraging her to do the same. We lean on the railing and look out to the waters of Germany.
Didn't Anne Frank say it's easier to talk about deep things when gazing upon some outward scene?
Well she's right, but I didn't talk about anything deep (even though I'm thinking it). Instead we spot fishes below and make some silly remark.
Time passes. Somewhat slowly at first then faster. We motion to go. She's gotta make a stop at the grocery store.
"I'm cooking for you," she says.
She gets points. All couchsurfing hosts are more accomodating than your mother's mother, so by now I'm not surprised. But very grateful. I offer up help but perhaps I let out that I tend to overcook (and evaporate) things because she orders me to stay put in my chair. Haha, do not disobey a German command! It's verboten..
"I don't usually cook," she admits. "So consider yourself lucky. Or unlucky..depending on how it turns out."
She peels potatoes and tosses 'em in the pan. Then onions. And...tomatoes. Mini yellow ones..
At this particular time people are dying in Hamburg and the news tells everyone to not eat tomatoes.
Sweating Ecoli-fearing bullets, I tremble tenaciously as I ask, "Should we wash those?"
"They're being cooked so it's all right. And the latest word is that it's sprouts causing the problems."
"Oh.." I say, while subconsciously counting the seconds that the tomatoes are in the pan. I can't help it. Bah, humbug!
Hamburg?
Whatever.
She is elegant in her cutting. The cozy atmosphere feels right. Her German accent is exciting. The smells of frying fill the air. Suddenly the fear washes away just a bit and the ambience of 'now' overtakes me. (I can eat tomatoes, I tell myself.)
It's done.
It smells wonderful.
Wasting no time, I dig in to a finely-textured potato. The little bit of oil fleshes out the veggie taste.
"You," I say, "get points."
"All I do is keep getting them. In any game you lose them too," she smiles.
"The night ain't over yet," I reply. Haha.
Among the veggies on my plate are five tomatoes. As I eat a forkful of the other stuff, my mind begins a dialog with itself.
"Go ahead," it says. "You're in Germany eating a meal prepared by a cool girl. Eat them. You only live once."
"Uh huh. Especially if these tomatoes have Ecoli!" I counter.
Just do it. It's part of the Hamburg magic. I trust her. I am here. Enjoy the food she created.
Undeterred, I pinch my fork through the juicy tomato. I bring it to my mouth and bite.
You're doing it Paul. You're risking life to 'live.' Take that, outbreak scare!
I gobble another tomato.
Back in the moment, I look up at the painting next to me. Something about it strikes me. It means something. I don't know what, but it feels important. Its simplistic style communicates more than words. If only I could translate them.
"Did you paint that?" I ask.
A pause.
"Yes. Do you know what it means?"
I blurt out what my gut thinks, "Someone lost their hat.. Maybe the hat wants to get lost?"
"The hat goes where the wind takes her. Like me." she says.
"Elusive, Like a butterfly." I respond.
She smiles.
"Yes. I painted it after my pilgrimage, the Camino de Santiago. It's a journey from France to Spain," she explains.
Impressive! I eat another tomato.
"I did part of the Camino de Santiago, but not until Santiago," she continues. "I walked 600km, the best experience of my life," she says with a smile.
"By yourself?" I ask.
"Yes."
"Are there hostels along the way?"
"Every 5km, 10km, or 20km. Locals offer their place to pilgrims by hanging a seashell on their door."
A symbol. Somehow that puts me at ease.
The conversation turns. I ask questions. Because I like to. She says I should be a journalist, haha.
She turns to me. "Now tell me one thing, because I don't know if we have this word in German. Your couchsurfing profile mentions that you are...what does it mean, dorky?"
I laugh and nearly fall out of my chair.
"It's... difficult to explain. Hmm. I think it's when you're interested in eclectic things. And passionate about odd subjects."
What else.. Hmm there's more attached to the meaning. From my attempts to explain it I think she understands.
"Unintentionally funny," she says.
"Exactly!" for some reason it makes me happy that she summed it up in two words.
"You have dork potential," I tell her with a smile.
From that moment Julia began using the phrase "okie dorky," (which coming from someone with a German accent is quite hilarious.)
We scrape our plates clean. We're hungry dorks.
I see a guitar in the corner. An idle guitar is full of potential.
"What do you play?"
She smiles. "I'll show you."
First the strings, a light tune, almost peaceful. Then German lyrics. Her voice is passionate and I don't understand the words but I can almost follow the story. Like a female version of Don McLean? Haha.
A relaxing song.
A fast-paced song.
I ponder.
I am in Germany. In a greenhouse-like kitchen, listening to a musician do her work. This..is different.
For a minute I forget about Ecoli.
Bacteria got nothin' on this.
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